Like A Volcano, Baby
by Redlance-ck
Summary: Mealtime at The Palace is not a peaceful affair. Sam/Brooke


**Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Ryan Murphy, I'm just borrowing them so they can do my bidding for a while.

**A/N:** This was prompted by boomwizard. It was her brainchild, I just took the idea and ran with it. Hope it lives up to expectations. ;) Also, not beta'd, all mistakes are mine, But I'll share them if you like.

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Dinnertime was supposed to be when families came together to converse and talk about their days. It was supposed to be a happy time, Jane had read about it in those 'How To Have A Happy Family' books, but lately, dinnertime in the McQueen-McPherson household was anything but happy. It was, more often than not, a solemn affair. Filled with stony silence and barely restrained animosity. Both Mike and Jane tried, they really did. They attempted to start conversations with their children about their days, school activities, any number of things, but they were always shot down with terse or one word answers.

It seemed, when it came to dinnertime, the only people Sam and Brooke had words for, were each other.

"Brooke," And that was always the first warning. When Sam said the blonde's name with that sickly-sweet tone of voice and that half-smile, half-smirk, it was like twenty warning flags were simultaneously shot into the air, forcing their parent's eyes up and their gazes to lock. "If you're not too busy figuring out how to horde your food like a hamster so you can dispose of it later, could you pass me the potatoes?" For an instant, Brooke's eyes remained cold and her face expressionless. Then an equally sweet smile pulled at her lips and she reached for the potatoes.

"Hey, Sam?" She deposited the potatoes at the side of Sam's plate and lifted her hand to tuck her hair behind her ears. "How many of the hall monitors did you have to make it with to get the dirt on the cafeteria menu?"

"Girls." Mike's voice was stern, warning, but he knew it was futile. That him attempting to stop them was just part of the routine now, because Sam was laughing, and that was the second.

"Don't be so modest, Brooke. What about all the football players you had to go through to get captain?" Sam punctuated the sentence by lifting her tongue to touch the underside of her front teeth, eyebrows high and challenging.

"Sam." Jane prided herself on being a good mother. She thought she was, truly believed it. She'd been there for Sam through everything, had offered answers when she had them, opinions when she didn't, but this. This hateful, spiteful, venomous side of her daughter was new to her, and she had no idea how to deal with it. There was a constant tension between the two girls that was slowly but surely driving a wedge between her and Mike, and she didn't know how to alleviate it.

"It's fine, Jane." Brooke said, her face a mask of sympathy. "Sam's just projecting."

"And what exactly am I projecting?" The blonde's expression slipped into one of barely contained glee and she smiled widely.

"I think it's obvious." She paused from dramatic effect, eyes never leaving the fiery brown ones locked on her own. "You're clearly jealous of me." In the silence that followed, even the smallest, lightest of pins could have been heard hitting the floor. And then a bark of laughter burst from Sam, startling their parents, but not phasing Brooke in the least.

"Good god, don't flatter yourself, Princess." Sam lifted her fork to her mouth, depositing a helping of spaghetti inside and chewing thoroughly before speaking again. "The only thing you have that I'm jealous of, is a gag reflex. But I'm sure that comes in more useful for you than it would to me."

"Oh, I don't know. I think the aforementioned hall monitors quite enjoyed your lack of one."

"That's enough!" Jane's knife and fork scraped her plate as they were slammed onto it, and she sent fierce glares at both of the girls. "**Why** is it so difficult for us to have a nice, family meal without a verbal cold war breaking out?"

"Maybe it's because we're **not** a family!" Sam snapped, sending a look strikingly similar to her mother's right back at her. "We won't ever be."

"Honey, if you just tried-" An angry noise of frustration left the reporter and she shoved her plate away, getting to her feet.

"I don't **want** to try! God, I wish you'd stop pushing this down my throat! It won't make me okay with it!"

"Sam, your mother and I just want to make this work. I love her very much, and the two of us have tried very hard to make this move as easy as we possibly could. I would have thought that you and Brooke would want us to be happy, and that you would be able to put your differences aside and become-"

"Sisters?" Sam barked, finishing his sentence for him. "That is **never** going to happen." Dark eyes slipped to the side and she set her gaze on Brooke, who was sitting looking quietly smug and not saying a word. "Don't sit there acting like the innocent party, Brooke. You're against this merging just as much as I am."

"Oh god, don't drag me into the line of fire just because you can't handle the heat, Sam. You've never held your tongue before, I wouldn't dream of taking away your shovel now. Please, continue digging your hole." Sam hands went to her hair, fingers burying themselves in them, and she tugged in frustration.

"You act like you're so innocent! And nobody sees that you're just as bad as I am! Everyone thinks that you're little miss perfect, but you're not." She pressed her palms flat against the table and leaned in so she was hovering close to Brooke. "And I don't think you can stand it that I know that. That I can see past your white picket fence exterior and through to the frightened, cold-hearted bitch underneath." Brooke's face turned cold and her eyes filled with fiery ire at the same moment, and venomous words were on the tip of her tongue.

"Go to your rooms. Both of you." Mike's voice was level and low, but his words told both Brooke and Sam that this was not something they wanted to argue against. "Jane and I **will** have one meal together in this house that ends with pleasant silence instead of you at each other's throats. If that means you two have to be absent from the table, so be it." Sam rolled her eyes and moved away from the table, pushing it back under with her foot. Brooke followed suit, picking up the napkin out of her lap and tossing it down atop her plate. Instead of moving for the stairs, Sam strode past the island, into the kitchen area.

"Sam, go to your room." Jane said sternly, not in any kind of mood to put up with her daughter's inability to listen.

"I'm getting water." Brooke moved around the table and Mike and Jane watched as the blonde followed Sam's path. Instead of saying anything, the parents returns their attention to their meals and decided they only way to get through things sometimes, was to block everything but what you wanted to focus on out.

"It doesn't take more than a brain cell to locate a bottle of water, Sam. I realise that because of that, it might be challenge for you, but can you please move?"

"I'm not done, Brooke. Take a number and wait." Jane lifted her cutlery and began cutting into the meat on her plate.

"How's work at the office?" Mike smiled at her question, appreciating that she was trying.

"Good, it-"

"If you're going to be a complete pain in the ass about everything, can you just pass me a water?" Brooke's question broke through the barrier they were attempting to erect, but Mike clenched his jaw and tried again.

"It's good. I think I'm headed for a promotion." Jane beamed at him.

"Oh honey, that's great! Are you…." The woman's sentence petered out when she heard her daughter's voice again, heard the smile she knew the girl was wearing accent the words.

"Too late. I guess I got the last one." The refrigerator closed with a dull thud and they could hear the cracking of the bottle's top being broken.

"You took… the last one." Brooke breathed out evenly. "Again."

"Are you making progress with you presentation for next month?" Jane tried again, this time managing to get food into her mouth.

"Just another thing I have that you want, huh Princess?" Sam could be heard growling back, and then the crinkling sound of fingers gripping a bottle being drunk out of was heard.

"That is **it**!" Brooke screamed. "I can't take it anymore!"

"I um, I think so. Ken in I.T said he'd help me with some of the computing elements, but when that's done-"

"What are you going to do, Brooke? Cheer me to dea-" Sam's remaining words we morphed into a yelp that was quickly muffled by the sounds of some kind of scuffle. Jane gritted her teeth, staring Mike dead in the eye as they silently communicated about what they should do. Ignoring seemed to be the unanimous opinion, let them clean up their own bloodshed, but the crash of smashing glass and thrown steel utensils, made them both snap their attention quickly to the kitchen.

They'd expected there to have been hair pulling, perhaps for the walls to be sprayed with blood. They hadn't expected to see Brooke pressed against the furthest counter, pinned there by Sam, who had her hand at the blonde's neck and her lips firmly planted against the other girl's. They hadn't expected to see Brooke's hands running feverishly along the length of the brunette's back, fisting in her t-shirt before reaching down to grab a handful of Sam's jean-clad backside and squeezing. And they most definitely hadn't expected to see Sam push another container of spatula-like objects out of the way, onto the floor, and **lift** the blonde onto the counter, never breaking contact with her lips. It was around the time that Brooke's legs wrapped around the report's middle and one of them let out a groan that Jane and Mike both simultaneously lost the grip of their utensils. The clatter as they hit the plates seemed to rouse the two girls, though falling spatulas hadn't, and they pulled their mouths from one another's.

Everything was silent. Mike and Jane's eyes were glued to their respective daughters, eyes wide, jaws hanging slightly agape. Brooke's gaze was fixed right back at them over the top of Sam's head, which finally turned, and she stared back unblinking and swollen-lipped at the dinner table over her shoulder. Brooke couldn't seem to untangle her legs from around the shorter girl and Sam didn't remember how to move. But Jane did. She pushed her chair back and got to her feet.

"I need a drink." With a brief, very brief, second glance at them, Jane disappeared into the living room. Where the liquor cabinet lived. Mike, somewhat unsteadily, managed to get himself into a standing position and stumbled after her.

"Make mine a double."


End file.
